


In a Wilderness, Where the Law Can't Find Me

by Aylwyyn228



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur talks to Kieran at Colter, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 1: Colter (Red Dead Redemption 2), Gen, Hurt Kieran, Hurt/Comfort, I don't really know what to tag this, Kieran Duffy is a horse girl, Protective Arthur Morgan, So is Arthur, just a smidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: “Don’t hurt her.”Arthur startled at the sudden voice, enough to get the mare to take a couple of steps back, eyeing him warily.He span around to see that damn O’Driscoll tied up to one of the nearby trees, past the low fence that separated the path from the field. Christ, he was so fucking quiet, Arthur hadn’t even noticed him.“Why in hell would I hurt a goddamn horse?”
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde (implied), Kieran Duffy & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	In a Wilderness, Where the Law Can't Find Me

Arthur scowled as he pushed open the door of his cabin and a thick clump of snow dislodged itself from the door jamb and melted right down the back of his neck. He hated being so far up the mountains, so far north. He always had, as far as he could remember. 

His heart longed for the openness of the plains, and the dust of the canyons. The heat haze rising up on the horizon. 

But there was nothin’ to be done about it. They’d burnt their bridges down in Blackwater, and now they had to wait out the last of the winter storms way up in the hills. 

The air against his face was still icy. There wasn’t any thaw in the air as far as he could see, but Hosea had grown up in the hills, with the snow in the winter, and he swore to heaven that he felt the atmosphere changing, so maybe… 

The snow was drifted high against the side of the cabin with the wind. They’d be lucky if no one came down with fever… They were lucky  _ already _ , with John beginning to mend. 

And unlucky along with it. Davey and poor Jenny dead. Mac and Sean still missin’. His heart ached for Mac, wherever he was, not knowing that his brother was dead. He knew that Mac, older, but only by a year or so, worshipped the ground Davey walked on. He had his back the way most men could only wish for. It’d cut Mac up to know that Davey was cold in his grave. 

Sean, Arthur missed more than he’d say. Sean hadn’t been silent for a moment in his goddamn life, and Arthur thought he’d be glad of the peace, but he wasn’t… Not for a second. 

Though he’d never tell a soul. 

And sure as fuck would never tell Sean, when he saw him again. 

If… he saw him again. 

Fuck.

Arthur dragged his coat tighter around him. He’d only left the relative warmth of the cabin because he was beginning to feel his mind start to eat itself, like a caught coyote chewing at its own leg. 

He did well with just his own thoughts usually, but perhaps not caught inside four walls. 

He didn’t even have anything to write, just shut up alone in the cabin, thinkin’ on Mary… thinkin’ way back, on Isaac and Eliza… Lord, but he’d fucked up a whole lot in his life… 

He was done with thinkin’, needed some company, and some good liquor with it. Normally he’d seek out Hosea and Dutch, but they’d been shut up all alone themselves, much to Molly’s consternation. 

Not that Arthur thought  _ that _ was what they were gettin’ up to. 

He knew that Hosea wasn’t happy with what went down in Blackwater. Hell, Dutch wasn’t too happy himself. He also knew that the two of them’d likely been rowing more than they’d been talkin’ sweet, but there wasn’t anyone in the world the two of ‘em would rather row with, so Arthur was sure they weren’t gonna emerge any time soon. 

Not until the weather broke anyway. Or until one of ‘em had some kind of goddamn plan. 

So now he’d decided to go lookin’ for Charles, see if he wanted to head out again for a few hours. Lenny and Javier were fair company too, though he doubted they’d catch much. He doubted any of the women’d want to ride out far, but he’d be happy to sit with them. Hell, he’d be more than happy to. 

He was well aware that he’d shut himself up in a huff that was only hurtin’ himself. Angry at Dutch. Angry at the world. Workin’ himself up into a foul mood. He needed a little bit of lightness back. 

Or at least a distraction.

He wasn’t quite at the point he’d take Micah for company but he was comin’ close. 

Looking over the snowy afternoon, Arthur instantly noticed a roan mare standing over by the low fence. He frowned. He didn’t recognise her, and he couldn’t think of anyone who’d needed a new horse, not after they’d picked up a few of the O’Driscoll horses to replace the ones they’d lost in Blackwater. 

It wasn’t good for the horse to be out in the snow on her own, and the tack on her said she wasn’t a wild mare who’d wandered away from her herd. 

He didn’t have nothin’ better to do, so he strode out over the pasture, kicking up big drifts through the untouched snow. 

“Where’d you come from, girly?” he said, quietly, when he got close enough to spook her.

She snorted, tossing her head back and warning him off touching her. He automatically shushed her, hands raised in surrender. She wasn’t too friendly, but she clearly wasn’t wild, even if her reins were thrown forward and tangled. 

He shushed again, and clicked his tongue. “‘S alright, girl. Where’d you come from?” 

She snorted again, but when he reached into his coat for some sugar cubes, she seemed to perk up. He laughed under his breath. He’d never yet met a horse that didn’t get all sweet at a few sugar cubes. 

“Don’t hurt her.” 

Arthur startled at the sudden voice, enough to get the mare to take a couple of steps back, eyeing him warily. 

He spun around to see that damn O’Driscoll tied up to one of the nearby trees, past the low fence that separated the path from the field. Christ, he was so fucking quiet, Arthur hadn’t even noticed him. 

Goddamn Dutch had been tying him up all over the place, tryin’ to get him scared enough to talk. In his heart, Arthur doubted it’d work. The kid seemed timid as hell, and if bein’ surrounded by the whole lot of them hadn’t got him spillin’ his secrets, then Arthur didn’t know what would. 

Dutch might be havin’ one of his… moments, but he hadn’t sunk so low that he’d asked Arthur to bleed it out of him. Hell, he hadn’t even asked him to give the kid a slap. 

Arthur looked him over, tremblin’ and stick thin and dirty. It’d be a goddamn crime to give him a beatin’ now.

Dutch apparently felt the same, given there wasn’t a mark on him that said Micah or Bill had paid him a visit either. Evidently, Dutch had decided to see if the cold and the dark, and the distant wolf howls, could do what thirst and hunger couldn’t.

The O’Driscoll’s tongue darted out over his lips as he stared across the low fence separating them. “Please,” he said, hoarsely, “don’t hurt her.” 

Arthur blinked, and realised what he’d said. He looked back at the mare, who was watching the exchange placidly. He blinked again. “Why in hell would I hurt a goddamn horse?”

The O’Driscoll didn’t say anything, but the way his expression went guarded was enough of an answer. 

“She’s yours?” Arthur asked. 

The O’Driscoll still didn’t answer. Arthur didn’t need it. 

He pulled out the sugar cubes and let her mouth one off his glove, leaving a slick smear against the leather. He took the opportunity of her stepping closer to grab her reins. She barely seemed to notice. 

“She followed you here?” 

There was still no answer, but when Arthur turned back around, the man gave a tight shrug. One that looked like it hurt with the cold. 

Arthur tugged the mare over to the low fence, and hitched her reins, then jumped it so that he could get a better look at the man. 

Seeing him coming over, the man’s eyes went wide, but he still didn’t say a word. Arthur guessed he could respect that a little. 

He drew himself up, held himself a little bigger, the way he’d learnt long ago made even the biggest goddamn fools back up. Made conmen and liars spill every secret they ever had. “You call for her?” 

“No…” 

“You plannin’ on slippin’ out of here?” 

“No! No, I swear!” 

“Plannin’ on runnin’ back to Colm?” 

“I swear! I swear it! I ain’t done nothin’!”

The man was babbling now, runnin’ his mouth and sayin’ nothin’, and Arthur didn’t feel much respect anymore. Pity, maybe, a bit of disgust. 

He stepped up close to the man, and fisted a hand into the front of his jacket. “Maybe I oughta hobble you and her both, and make sure.” 

The man gasped in a breath which only made him cough. “No! No! Please!” he choked, as he caught his breath. “Please, don’t hurt her! Please, don’t!”

Arthur decided there was no sport in this, and definitely no chance of finding anything out, not while the man was so frightened he could barely get the words out. 

He let go of the O’Driscoll’s coat. “I told you, I ain’t gonna hurt a goddamn horse. You, on the other hand...”

“I swear, mister,” the O’Driscoll said again. “Where would I go?” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Back to Colm.” 

The O’Driscoll laughed, if the rough sound could be called a laugh. “Colm don’t deal well with them that get caught.” 

“He’d think you’d ratted?” 

The man shrugged again, barely making any movement at all. “Rat or not, them that are caught are weak, and Colm don’t have no time for weakness.” 

Arthur thought about it, and then grunted. That seemed to match what he knew of Colm. And it seemed to confirm that they weren’t likely to get much outta this fella. If Colm hated weakness, then it was a wonder Colm hadn’t shot him on sight, let alone trusted him with any information. 

Arthur looked over him again, and felt a stab of guilt. 

His coat was unfastened, leaving just his shirt as protection against the stabbing wind. He looked gaunt. Beneath the sparse beard, his cheeks were sunken in. The bones of his collarbones were showing. 

Arthur frowned again. They hadn’t had him long. Not long enough for Dutch’s enforced starvation to have this effect. He had the lean, wiry look of someone pretty used to going without. 

As Arthur watched, a gust of wind blew through and sent shivers through the man. He closed his eyes briefly against the chill, and if anything, Arthur would swear he grew paler. Ashy pale, save for two points of high colour on his cheeks. 

Arthur felt that stab of guilt again and glanced back at where Dutch had set himself up with Hosea out of the weather.

He wondered if he should ask, and then instantly dismissed the thought. He wasn’t beholden to Dutch for every decision. And even then, Dutch had taken pains to see that the man could still answer questions. They couldn’t very well question him if he froze to death overnight. 

Arthur doubted Dutch would care much either way. 

Colm was a side thought really at this point. They had more things to worry about.  _ Dutch _ had more things to worry about. 

He leaned forwards, and the man flinched. 

“Easy,” he said, like he was still talkin’ to the horse. 

He leaned forwards again, and tugged the rope free from around the tree. He didn't bother retying his hands. He didn’t think this fella could put up the strength to run, let alone fight, and he was proved right when he didn’t even try to make a break for it. 

Arthur grabbed his arm, and started to drag him on towards the barn. He thought for a second, and went and unhitched the horse too. They were keeping the other horses in the barn, out of the worst of the weather. It made sense to put this one in there too. 

And maybe her presence would calm the O’Driscoll a little. They were sure not to get anything out of him if he kept falling into fits at a moments notice. 

Arthur pulled them both into the shelter of the barn, and let the mare wander over to the other horses. He tugged the man roughly over to one of the posts, and after a moment’s consideration, shoved at his shoulder until he sat. 

The man sank with a painful groan. 

Arthur fished the rope out of his pocket, and bound the man tightly. A goddamn soft fool he might be, but he wasn’t an idiot. He tied it tight enough that he could see the way the fibres cut into the man’s skin. He’d have to flay himself before he could get free.

Arthur left him, and went to see to the horse, untacking her and letting her into a stall. 

By the time he turned back, the man had sagged over, head lolling forwards like he didn’t have any control over it. 

Arthur grabbed his hair and dragged his face up. “Hey, you better not be dyin’.” 

The O’Driscoll blinked. He looked dazed, sleepy. Arthur guessed cold and hunger’d do that to a man. 

He raised his hand and that seemed enough to scare some clarity into the man. “Hey, I ain’t sleepin’, I swear! I swear!” 

“Good.” Arthur released him. “You feel your fingers, O’Driscoll?” 

“I… no?” 

The man’s eyes went wide, and Arthur’d bet any money that he was flexin’ and twistin’ ‘em fit to make his wrists bleed. 

Arthur didn’t know whether frostbite could kill a man, but he didn’t much feel like riskin’ it. He grabbed a pair of riding gloves that’d been abandoned on one of the saddle stools. He stooped and dragged them roughly over the O’Driscoll’s hands. 

He doubted they were on right, but they’d see him right til morning. 

It might be warmer inside the barn but Arthur could still see his breath misting. It’d only get colder when the sun went down. 

Arthur grunted again, to himself, as he grabbed one of the horse blankets that was hanging over the side of an empty stall. He’d already gone this far. May as well make sure the fella survived the night. 

Plus, it mightn’t be a bad idea to show the man a hint of mercy. He reckoned it was Hosea’s voice inside his head, tellin’ him that it was a good way to get a man to talk. Catch him off guard, between all the threats, and he might just spill his guts to his saviour. 

Arthur reckoned Hosea would’ve already got somethin’ outta this fella, if he could be convinced to try. But Hosea thought all this Colm business was a distraction and nothing more. 

So this poor bastard would likely just rot here until he finally expired from exposure or hunger. 

“What’s her name?” Arthur asked, as he returned with the blanket. 

The man eyed him warily. “Branwen.”

Arthur grunted. It was a good name. He knelt down. “And you’re… Duffy, was it?”

“Kieran.” 

Arthur nodded, and dumped the blanket over his knees. Carefully enough that it at least covered him, but not careful enough that it looked like he gave a shit. “You’d best start talkin’ soon, Kieran Duffy. You look like you’re on your last legs.”

Duffy shrugged again. “What would I say?” 

Arthur was half tempted to make a grab for him again. It was his usual method of persuasion. But this was the most the fella had said since they’d picked him up… that weren’t beggin’ or pleadin’ in any case. 

“Any damn thing you like, long as it’s true.” 

Duffy grinned a little, and looked slightly unstrung if Arthur was honest. “Colm ain’t told me shit, and if he had, I wouldn’t bet any of it was true.”

Arthur stared at him for a second, and then grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. 

So much for that. 

“Colm’s gonna kill all of ya.” 

Arthur stopped dead, his hand on the barn door. He turned around slow, scanning over Duffy’s face. Duffy was just looking back at him. Calm as anythin’.

“For what ya did back there,” he continued, like there hadn’t been a pause. “Maybe just cos he likes killin’.” 

“That a threat?” 

“No,” Duffy said. Like it was the easiest answer in the world. Like it was the most honest thing he’d said so far. 

And Arthur believed him. 

There wasn’t any defiance in him. Hadn’t been since they’d picked him up, if Arthur was honest, and as Arthur looked at him now, all he could see was resignation. 

Some men were just born victims, he guessed. 

“Maybe I’ll get Colm first,” Arthur said. 

“You won’t,” Duffy said, simply. “You think you’re bad men… but you don’t know Colm.”

Arthur laughed, a least a little gruff. “I know Colm. I reckon Dutch knows him better than any man alive.”

“You don’t,” Duffy said, instantly. His tongue flicked out again, wetting his peeling lips. He took in a sharp breath, through a grimace. “Oh, you sure don’t.”

And Arthur wasn’t sure he’d heard anything that sounded less like a threat in his life. It sounded a hell of a lot more like a promise. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I posted this because it'd been sat in my WIPs for months, and I clearly have no idea what to do with it. It might gain a part 2 set after Blessed Are The Peacemakers, if anyone actually likes it. 
> 
> Title is from Hypothermic by Goodnight, Texas, my favourite band. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!


End file.
